


Life As We Know It

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Bullying, Character Death, Derek Feels, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, Mentions of the Hale House fire, Name-Calling, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Scars, Soulmarks, TWBingo, teen wolf bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fills for the Teen Wolf Bingo on tumblr. Chapter ratings will vary, warnings will be added as appropriate. Not all warnings/tags from the header apply to all prompts - specific ones are mentioned in chapter notes.<br/></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>So don't be afraid</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Of the things you cannot change</i>
    <br/>
    <i>As the sun surely follows the rain</i>
    <br/>
    <i>I believe that you can't try to lead or control it</i>
    <br/>
    <i>'Cause that's just life as we know it</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: panic attacks, nightmares, Hale Fire mentions, Laura mentions.  
> Takes place sometime during 3b. Pre-Sterek.  
> Rating: PG

_“What if it’s agony now and then… then it’s just hell later on?”_

It hurts almost physically, watching him, seeing the way his body seizes when the dreams kick in, when the mind is still floating in the dread of the nightmare but Stiles’ body is awake. Derek knows that he can’t help, that he shouldn’t even be there, shouldn’t _know_ , but he can’t look away. He remembers it, clearer than he should after all those years that passed, but the memory is sharp.

He still remembers the way it felt to think, to believe that he was in there, in the fire, with flames licking at his skin, the screams in his ears, louder than if he’d been human, closer but not close enough to save them. He’d told Laura, when she tried to talk to him about it, that it was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone, with only one exception. The nightmares have gotten less frequent now, especially with _her_ gone, with threats still present but his vigilance and caution at least good enough to prevent the same thing as before.

But to see Stiles like that, to _feel_ the terror of a pack member but not be able to help, that’s excruciating. Derek stands by his words, he wouldn’t wish the nightmares on anyone, not Scott, not Allison, not Lydia, not Isaac or even Chris. He’d even try to help Peter stop them, get him out of that state of paralysis.

It hurts more when it’s Stiles, though, and Derek can’t quite understand why. He doesn’t know why the boy’s panic gets to him so much, or even why Stiles seems to be having worse nightmares than Scott or Allison. Why he’s more susceptible to the darkness that all of them risked when they sacrificed themselves.

Most nights, he can’t reach Stiles before the Sheriff comes running, alerted by the screams or by Stiles thrashing around on his bed, unable to wake up. But some nights the screams are silent, Stiles’ body frozen in place and unmoving. Those are the nights when Derek slips into the window quietly and slides next to Stiles. He remembers how it used to help to have Laura close, to feel pack, to feel _safe_. He’s not an Alpha anymore, partly glad to be rid of that role, but he’ll still do everything he can for pack, even if it’s not his own. So on the nights when he can, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and stays there, watches over the boy until his breathing evens out.

He always leaves before anyone can find him, though.

_“_ _You have more time, right? More time to be rescued.”_


	2. No Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not canon-compliant. Mention of virgin sacrifices. Pre-Sterek.  
> Rating: PG

“We don’t need to… I mean, it’s not like I’d expect there to be…”

Stiles pauses, entirely unsure about the words that he is willing to come out of his mouth, stumbling over the chaos that’s taken over his brain.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek grunts from where he’s sitting on the couch, looking uncomfortable in more ways than one.

“You _have to_ know, though,” Stiles breathes out. “What with your super special nose and senses. I’m not opposed to it. in case that wasn’t painfully obvious already. And it doesn’t have to be… there doesn’t need to be attachment or anything, I’m good with the no strings thing, really.”

“Stiles, don’t…”

“It’s just, I do remember the sacrifices and the ritual we interrupted wasn’t the same, but you heard what Deaton said and that there was virginal blood required, lots of it,” Stiles continues rambling, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on his shins as he curls up in the chair opposite Derek, arms wrapped around his bent legs. “Like, a full person’s worth of virginal blood, and with everyone in the school humping like bunnies… or pups, as it were…”

Derek growls, not at all quietly, and Stiles pauses for a short breath.

“I just don’t want to… it’d put everyone at risk more if you have to keep making sure that I don’t…”

“You’re pack,” Derek’s voice carries across the room. “You’re protected.”

“Not so much when it’s not a _werewolf_ trying to do the ritual and when they can’t _smell_ me being pack.”

There’s a heavy sigh that comes from behind Derek’s hands as he rubs them over his face in frustration.

“And it’s not like I have anyone else to ask, really, do I? What options do I have, even if I did decide to go for someone I don’t find…” Stiles stops and flinches a little when Derek’s eyes meet his, the look a mix between a death glare and mild curiosity at what Stiles was going to say. “I’m not helping my pitch about the casual thing, am I?”

Derek shakes his head after a beat, but doesn’t comment or protest for once.

“I can do the strings thing too, if you wanted, it’s not like you’re unappealing or that… like I said, you _have to_ know I’m … you’re…”

“Shut _up_ , for the love of everything that is holy, shut up, Stiles,” Derek grumbles.

For once, Stiles does, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip as he tries not to keep talking, to stop the flood of words that probably wouldn’t make sense when spoken anyway.

“No strings?” Derek asks after a while and Stiles’ heart skips.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispers, watching as Derek unfolds himself from the couch and walks over.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says when he’s in front of the chair, and he pulls Stiles up. “There are strings already. Always have been.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to… like this,” Derek speaks quietly, his hand resting against Stiles’ cheek. “Not when it’s a last resort, or your only option.”

“Idiot,” Stiles says, his lips turning up into a grin. “Like you didn’t know you’re my first choice.”

Then he leans in and presses his lips against Derek’s.


	3. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Major Character Death, angst, semi-graphic description of violence/open wounds  
> Post-canon, future!fic  
> Rating: R

Stiles was the one who talked about scars at first. After Derek's progress to his full Alpha shift, it was Stiles who pointed out that all Derek's scars, even the ones Derek had acquired when he was temporarily human, healed and disappeared. Derek was relieved -- there had been a particularly nasty one on his thigh that would have scared off anyone who got that close -- and he praised the werewolf healing factor.

But then Stiles happened -- well, no, Stiles was always _there_ , it just took Derek a while to allow himself to think of Stiles the way his wolf side wanted to. To think of the pale skin yielding to his rougher touch, to allow his heart to fully open up to someone, and to let himself fall in love again. Derek remembers Lydia muttering "of course it's you two" when the subject of mates and true love came up during a planning session -- they'd been after a witch who had plans to use a mate bond against the pack. Derek's heart skipped enough for all the wolves in the room to look at him in panic.

"Derek, man…" Scott had started asking, but then he actually heeded Derek's silent warning in the form of a glare reminiscent of when they were still strangers.

It didn't bother Derek much that Lydia knew. Her own link with Jackson -- with Jackson's wolf at least -- gave her enough of an insight on the signs of a mate bond. Derek's protectiveness, his constant awareness of where Stiles was, the way Stiles was drawn towards Derek at the seemingly most random times, the way Derek's scent marking of Stiles was beyond the usual pack one.  Lydia was always too smart to not put the pieces of a puzzle together, and Derek was sort of glad that someone in the pack understood.

Lydia was the one who prompted Derek's confession, eventually. Seeing her reaction when Jackson made his way back to California, hearing how her erratic and panicky heartbeat lulled to a steady rhythm when Derek watched them reunite at the airport was the reason he took the necessary step. With Lydia's approval -- and a healthy dose of "if you screw it up, I'll come and scream in your ears while you're sleeping" -- Derek stumbled through asking Stiles out, and then explained about mates and the bond that was there from the day in the woods when Stiles barely started figuring out everything about werewolves.

"You're a complete idiot, Derek Hale," Stiles said, but his eyes betrayed the lack of anger.

"I know," Derek admitted quietly. "I didn't want to… I couldn't…"

Stiles understood. It was part of why Derek cherished him so much -- Stiles always knew what Derek couldn't bring himself to say. He was aware of Derek's fears, of the terrifying thought of losing anyone else in his life.

"Not that easy to get rid of, sourwolf," Stiles laughed then, and many times after that. "You're stuck with me now."

"I know," Derek whispered every time.

"I know," he's whispering now, in the middle of the night.

He doesn't have scars, even the toughest attacks that did leave scars on others -- some of them even on the werewolves, like the one of Scott's that never healed fully, from a witch's spell -- none of Derek's stuck. At least none that anyone would ever see. There's one, though, underneath his skin, invisible to the eye, but he can feel it with each breath, with each second. He remembers his mother talking about mates, about how they carve themselves into a wolf's heart, but Derek never thought of it as more than a metaphor or a myth. He should have known, really. After all, werewolves were for so many people in the world a myth too.

He remembers laughing -- once his chest wasn’t open anymore and the mark was yet again out of sight -- that even fate knew not to mark him with Stiles' unpronounceable first name. Laughter is something foreign now, even if the steady ache keeps reminding him of times when he did.

Breathing in heavily, Derek closes his eyes, the sight of the full moon in the sky a bitter reminder of everything painful in his life.

"I know," he whispers when his mind haunts him with what he can't get from the back of his mind.

_You're stuck with me, now and forever_ , Stiles had said on the day they completed their mating bond, on the day that Derek first felt the mark on his heart beating steadily.

It hurts now, where it's etched into Derek's flesh, completely still against the beat of his own heart. It always does, rigid in the midst of constantly moving muscles that pump blood whether he wants them to or not. His heart only paused once, when the mark on it stuttered to a stop. It hasn't moved since. He'll never stop feeling it, and there will never be another one… or anyone else.

"I know," Derek whispers into the night and the tiny carving of an 'S' burns inside his chest, the one scar that he alone knows about now.

_I love you_ , he thinks, and then an echo repeats his earlier whisper back, _I know_. For a moment, Derek makes himself believe that the voice that carried back to him is not his own, that it carries the familiar tone of sarcasm he grew to love. His heart stutters then, and the pain from the dead tissue forming the lone scar -- the reminder of what he had for way too little time -- makes his wolf howl.


	4. Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: bullying, self-doubt, insecurities, hurt/comfort, Hale fire reference, Laura mention, guilt feelings.  
> Post-canon. Pre-Sterek.   
> Rating: PG

It's not like he knows that the taunts were directed at him. They could've been about anyone else in the school, any other _scrawny, clumsy, flailing idiot_ from the hallways. And it's not like they called him that to his face. No, he just happened to be in the locker room because he forgot his shorts and needed to take them home to get washed. He wasn't supposed to hear the words, or the mocking laughter that followed.

Stiles tries not to think about it as he drives home, his Jeep only stalling once by some miracle. When he gets out, he considers calling Scott for once, thinks he might feel better after a round or ten of CoD where he can virtually beat the shit out of something at least. But when he grabs his phone -- a new one, since his old one didn't make it out of the swimming pool intact -- he remembers that Scott had a meeting with Allison. With a sigh Stiles pockets the phone, and he climbs up the stairs into his room.

He's quiet as he boots up his laptop, shuffles a few papers from one side of his desk to another, tosses his hoodie on the bed and then slumps in his chair as the screen lights up with his usual background and familiar icons. Stiles' fingers hover over a few, but nothing is enough to distract him from the words still echoing in his mind. _Stupid useless idiot_ is burnt into his brain, along with _clumsy bench-warmer_. And he _knows_ , he is well aware of the fact that he's _weak_ , that he's not useful on the team, that he falls over his own feet while walking down the hallway and even more so on the field. Stiles does realize that even in the pack he's the weak link, that he doesn't have the strength or abilities  -- despite his _belief_ and what he managed with the mountain ash, which he still thinks was a fluke. He pulls up the web browser and clicks around for a while, then shuts the laptop and pushes himself away from the desk.

He's silent -- despite the frequent claims of people that he doesn't have that ability -- when his mind is filled with thoughts like this, he doesn't want to talk, even if there was someone in the room with him. But there's not, he's alone again, as he has been so many times before. It's still bright out, but he climbs into his bed. He's still fully dressed, but he doesn't care.

"Stiles."

When the voice rings through the room, Stiles almost jumps, because he didn't hear movement while his mind was still running over the words from the locker room earlier. He grunts when his brain registers whose voice it is, but he doesn't respond otherwise.

"Stiles?"

Derek actually intones the word as a question this time, but Stiles still doesn't feel like answering. Maybe if he stays motionless long enough, Derek will get a clue and leave him alone.

"Are you okay? Stiles?"

He thinks he's imagining the question, because there's no way _Derek_ of all people would ask him that, because why would he care?

"'m fine," Stiles mumbles finally, his voice muffled by the pillow in his face. "G' 'way."

Instead of listening to Stiles' request -- and really, who was he kidding, thinking that the _Alpha_ would take anything remotely resembling an order seriously -- Stiles' bed dips a little with Derek's weight, and then there's a hand on his back that makes Stiles shiver.

"Are you hurt?"

Stiles shakes his head as much as he can while it's still smooshed into the pillow, and it's half to answer the question and half in disbelief that the question even happened.

"What's going on? You and Scott have a lovers' quarrel?"

There's a tiny hint of mocking in the chuckle that follows, and it's almost enough of a button-push for Stiles, but not quite enough for him to snap. Again, he responds with a weak shake of his head -- arguing with Scott would mean that they spent any time together at all lately.

Derek doesn't ask any more questions, which at first fills Stiles with relief, because he doesn't know how he'd answer any of those that Derek could come up with. But relief morphs quickly into surprise when he feels the bed creak as Derek moves and then the warmth when Derek lies down next to Stiles and puts an arm around Stiles' waist, tugging him closer. Neither of them says anything, but when Stiles feels Derek's breath against his neck, he lets out a breath and the dam breaks.

He can still hear the weak echo of the words he heard, the cutting remarks that hit so close to his insecurities and weak spots. But he can also feel the way Derek noses along the length of Stiles' neck, scenting, protecting, marking him as _pack_. And that means something. It means enough for Stiles to sag under the weight of Derek's arm and to lose the will to fight the tears in his eyes.

It's maybe twenty minutes later that the words come out -- whispers and low tones that he knows Derek only hears because of his werewolf super-hearing -- one by one, punctuated by a mix of anger and defeat in Stiles' tone. They're the words he heard and some of his own, explaining how the guys in the locker room were right, that he is weak and useless, that no one cares.

"You're not, you know?" Derek says after another long silence. "Not weak, definitely not useless."

Stiles grunts in response, but doesn't move otherwise, since Derek's arm is still holding him close, and Derek has pulled Stiles in more when he tried to squirm away while he was talking.

"You're smart, you're fast; researching on the level that you do is more impressive than you give yourself credit for," Derek keeps talking quietly, directly into Stiles' ear. "And damn it, you're not scrawny, I can _feel_ the muscles you've gained since we were kids. You held me up in water for hours, you got away from so many things already. So you're not perfect at a pretentious sport, who cares?"

Stiles thinks that people do care, that it's high school and status means everything. That it's stupid and none of it will matter in the long run, but it does now, because in school he's a loser.

"You're not a loser," Derek growls, and, oh, Stiles realizes that he was saying things out loud.

He shakes his head again, arguing with Derek wordlessly, because what does Derek know about being so low in the high school ranks as Stiles is.

"Scott's supposed to be my best friend, but I barely saw him all week," Stiles whispers, and he's almost ashamed of how _weak_ his words come out.

 He's a nobody, invisible enough that some people don't even know he exists. No one cares.

"I do."

The words are enough for Stiles to whip his head around fast enough that he can feel the muscles in his neck protest. But for one, he was saying things out loud again, when he assumed he was just thinking them. For another, _Derek cares_? That's a thought that makes Stiles almost gasp, but he manages to hold that back. He doesn't know what he's expecting to find when his eyes find Derek's face. An expression that would uncover the blatant lie in Derek's words, though they did sound sincere enough, maybe. Or maybe he'll find a smirk that would tell Stiles that there's yet another person who wants to mock him.

What he sees in Derek's face is nothing that he's expecting. There's a frown, a questioning gaze, and a fondness that Stiles only ever saw in his Dad's eyes before, though even that was quite some time ago -- it's been tainted with exasperation and anger too many times lately.

"You do?" Stiles whispers, immediately chastising himself for asking, because the answer could be so many things that he doesn't want to hear.

"Stiles," Derek says with a hint of familiar exasperation, and Stiles can almost see the all too frequent shaking of Derek's head. "You're pack…"

_There it is_ , Stiles thinks. So he's pack, which he guesses is better than nothing, but that's what it is. He's an Alpha's responsibility because of his connection to Scott, a burden, a weak human in need of protection. When those thoughts finish running through his mind, he realizes that Derek isn't done talking.

"Wh-what?" Stiles stutters.

"I said you're _pack_ , and an important part of it," Derek says with a firm tone that doesn't allow for the questioning that Stiles' mind immediately comes up with. "But you're… you saved my life, you trusted me when you had very little reason to. You _remembered me from before_ ," Derek ends with a low whisper, and Stiles' eyes open wide.

"You… heard that," he says quietly and feels the heat rise in his cheeks.

Of course he knows what he told Scott that time when they first met Derek. Stiles also remembers how his heart skipped when he said it, when his mind pulled up an image of teenage Derek. Yes, Stiles remembered him from before the fire, and from immediately after.

"I remembered you too," Derek says then, his voice barely audible, and Stiles doesn't miss the way Derek's fingers twitch against the layers of Stiles' clothes.

"When Laura and I used to pick up our little sister," Derek offers an explanation even though Stiles hasn't asked. "You were in the same class, and I know you weren't friends…"

Stiles scoffs, because back then the only one willing to hang out with him was Scott. Now, he doesn't even have that.

"…but you… it was hard to miss you," Derek smiles at the memory. "And then at the station, when…"

Stiles feels the tension in Derek's body, and he plucks up the courage to lift a hand and rest it on Derek's arm. Instead of the growl he's expecting, he can feel Derek relax a little, breathe again.

"Your Dad tried to get you out of his office when Laura and I were brought in, but you wouldn't leave." Derek's smile returns, and Stiles cringes.

It hadn't been that long after they lost their Mom, and the Sheriff had Stiles at the station a lot, though usually occupied with something. That day though, it was before school started, so Stiles was supposed to be in the kitchen having breakfast with one of the deputies, but he snuck into his Dad's office instead.

"That was the first call I listened in to," he whispers. "I thought, after, that maybe if I listened again, I could help."

It's Derek who shakes his head this time, but not in a bad way, and Stiles can see the dismissal of his guilt over every time that the call came in a little too late, like the one about the Hale house fire. Or the one about Laura years later.

"There was nothing…" Derek starts, but chokes on the words and tenses again.

"I still wish there was," Stiles says, and he tries to put as much comfort into the press of his palm against Derek's arm as he thinks he can get away with.

"But that's beside the point." Derek's tone changes and he shakes his head to get rid of the memories he was about to fall into. "The point is, you're not weak, or useless, or unimportant. Not to me," Derek says firmly, but the fond look is in his eyes again.

Stiles doesn't know what to say to that. It's so completely against what his brain is drowning in right then, and everything he ever expected from Derek, that he's at a loss for words. So instead he lets his head fall against Derek's collarbone, even if it still strains his muscles a little to be twisted in that way, and he breathes in the residual scent of Derek's jacket. The softness under his head makes Stiles realize that the jacket isn't there, and he's about to ask when he decides that it can wait.

"I care, Stiles," Derek whispers, and Stiles can feel gentle pressure of what he'd normally assume to be a kiss into his hair.

Because it's Derek, though, Stiles can't quite file that away easily, not as if it was his Mom years ago, or Scott's Mom more recently. He's confused, but for once his brain doesn't veer away from the words Derek has spoken, from the warmth of the arm that's tugging him even closer, or from the feeling of comfort that's radiating from the werewolf who _cares_. When the pressure returns to his head, Stiles doesn't question it or fight it, and he finally doesn't feel the sting of the words that almost broke him earlier. He'll ask and analyze later, he thinks, including how Derek’s caring makes him feel. For now, he'll let it be the comfort that he craves.


	5. Wild Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: tiny reference to the Hale house fire, teeth-rotting fluff  
> inspired by [this](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/post/101331376794) post  
> Rating: G

It’s not that Stiles doesn’t _know_ how Derek feels about him. It’s not even that he craves to hear it said out loud, or that he’d need obnoxious gestures -- he has that part kind of covered. So he’s a sap, sue him, but no one questioned how much Derek appreciated getting the Camaro back _or_ the library from the old house restored. The big declarations are Stiles’ thing, and they don’t only come after he’s screwed up in one way or another.

Okay, so _some_ of them do. Sometimes. Not _all of them_.

But it wasn’t always the case that he knew how to decipher the little things from Derek’s behavior and what they meant. At the beginning, Stiles thought that Derek hated him. The fragile and breakable human, always in the way, always too smart and too curious for his own good, the one that needed to be told over and over to _stay put_ , or to _hold still_. Then later it was _get some sleep_ or _hope you’re eating_ , mostly when Stiles was in college and caught up in exams and essays.

“Yes, Dad. Thank you, Dad,” Stiles would snark back, though he did learn quickly to appreciate the reminders.

The first time he suspected that there was more to the words than it seemed was on a completely random day. Derek drove to San Fran to see the part of the pack who was in college there and took them all out to lunch -- there was dragging involved, quite literally, when Stiles insisted that he needed to finish researching for an essay that wasn’t due immediately. The reference to his Dad brought back high school memories, but the obligatory “yes, Dad” fell on Derek’s selectively deaf ears.

“Yeah, I’ll buy it for you,” Derek said in a casual tone, when Stiles whined about lacking a tablet that would make his note-taking in lectures easier.

Stiles’ eyes widened at the offer, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead he muttered about paying Derek back when he got the chance. The first thing he did after the tablet showed up on his doorstep was to Skype Derek to say thank you.

Another hint should’ve been clearer than that -- Stiles is all too aware of how dense he can be sometimes, but even Scott figured that one out faster. After a pack movie night, Derek began slipping “as you wish” into their conversations. At first, Stiles chalked it up to the fact that he’d insisted on _The Princess Bride_ for that particular movie night. Then when it continued for too long for the initial excuse to hold up, Stiles grumbled to Scott that Derek was making fun of him. Every time it came up in conversation, Scott rolled his eyes and mumbled something about obliviousness, but Stiles didn’t quite get it then.

It didn’t all hit him until he came back from college, got a job with the Beacon Hills police department as the researcher, and finally allowed himself to hope again when it came to Derek and whatever they _could_ be.

“Here, have my fries,” Stiles said, and pushed the basket of curly fries towards Derek.

“As you wish,” Derek replied, reached for the basket, and then they both froze.

They’d gone out after a hunt for a stray fairy -- supernatural creatures showed up in Beacon Hills less frequently those days, and Stiles’ job helped with having the police force on their side -- and they were the last two left in the diner. The Sheriff was still on shift, and Derek told Stiles that he had no reason to rush back home, since Isaac wasn’t living there anymore.

Derek still had his hand on the basket but didn’t make a move to get them closer yet, his eyes glued to his fingers wrapped around the edge. Stiles frowned at Derek’s hesitation, but a light of understanding was slowly coming alive in his head.

“You… you’re sharing your fries,” Derek said, and Stiles almost pointed out the lack of intonation, but Derek continued, his voice quieter, “with me.”

“I… yeah,” Stiles muttered, and that was when it hit him.

There had been little things in the time they knew each other. Stiles didn’t notice before, not when he held Derek up in water for hours, not when he was willing to cut his arm off to save him, not when he panicked about Derek missing for weeks. It took an even smaller thing -- well, smaller for anyone else -- to realize what everything added up to.

“I love you,” Stiles said into the silence between them, the diner noise forgotten by both.

“Oh,” was Derek’s only response at first.

They stared at each other in stunned silence, and Stiles’ mind ran over all the times when Derek said things that possibly meant something other than their literal meaning.

“You… you love me,” Stiles blurted, still reeling from the feelings that smacked him in the face moments earlier.

“I do,” Derek said slowly, with hesitation, like he was still processing what just happened.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles muttered. “Eat the fries.”

“As you wish,” Derek responded, this time with a less hesitant smirk on his lips.

“Shut up, you dork,” Stiles laughed. “We’ve got catching up to do.”

It hasn’t changed since then, at least not by much. There are no open declarations, but there are other words. Like _I’ll pick you up after work_ or _you have lunch in the fridge_ or _come back to me_. Other times it’s _good morning_ and _here’s your coffee_ and _I got your Dad’s birthday card_. _As you wish_ makes a reappearance often, as does _shut up_ and _make me_ \-- the latter usually together. Sometimes, in the middle of a quiet moment, it’s “I love you,” and it sounds like a promise every time.


End file.
